.Dance with the Devil’s Queen.

[Pestilence]

The scent of death.

The reek permeated the air at the Risingclan border – had some cat met their fate, paws traveling on their final journey?

No, not yet.

The queen lay half in, half out of a scraggly bush – a shelter that provided nothing to the she-cat. Even with night coming so quickly, the air chilled and nippy, she didn’t move.

Her black coat, dark fur tinted slightly with the color of crimson, was missing in patches and swatches from the mange which plagued her body. A swollen tick, engorged with her blood, raised a lump on one ear which didn’t even twitch to attempt to shake it off. What fur she had left, not affected by the mange, danced with black flecks.

Fleas.

A sad sight, to see any feline in. Let alone an elder. Btu the old she-cat wasn’t ready to let her paws travel down the dark path just yet.

Her eyes were open, the left a bright yellow beacon – as fierce and wild as it had been in her days of youth. Her right, although she still had full vision within it, had faded to mustard, mottled yellow.

They watched. Although she didn’t move save for the slight rise and fall of her form with each breath she took, she still watched.

Pestilence wasn’t so easy to wipe out, after all.

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

The scent of death struck Kestrel all at once, a black wave of scent that made her want to turn away, find a place where the wind would blow fresh air in her face.
But no; something had died, and she must see who or what.

Her white paws carried her swiftly across the plain, her head tilted curiously.
Her mismatched eyes, so intensely sharp and keen, caught the shiver of movement that was a cat's breath; she pulled back in suprise.

A cat close to death, then.

Kestrel stepped closer, and now she could see the decimated form of an elder she-cat, her skin jumping with ticks, mange-ridden.
Yet her eyes carried a fire Kestrel reconized.

Kestrel could see her breath. The chill in the air was settling in to stay, and while Kestrel with her medium-length fur would be fine for a long time yet, this thin-furred she-cat would suffer.

"Hello," she meowed softly, wondering if this cat would be a hostile one or not.

^I'm alive

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[Pestilence]

“So, young one.”

Her voice was cold, silken yet oddly hollow. As if the mange, the ticks, the fleas….the parasites have suck away all her strength. Save for her muzzle, moving to speak the softly spoken words, she made no effort to shift her position, to even raise herself in greeting to the cat.

“Have you come to finish me?”

Something flared within her odd gaze, and she moved to raise her head slightly.

“If that is the case, you’ll not have easy pickings. This old cat isn’t ready to die just yet.”

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

Kestrel's wary expression shifted to a faintly insulted one.

"I am no BoneClanner, cat," she meowed, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"What could I gain from killing a cat I have never met?"

^I'm alive

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[Pestilence]

The old she-cat barely even blinked, a harsh, spidery cough slipping from her barely parted muzzle.

“Boneclanner, she-cat?”

That hacking cough, as weak as it was, changed into a dry chuckle.

“Many cats that choose to not join one of the two rogue clans still murder and kill without discrimination. It’s a grand social experiment gone wrong. A cancer…”

Those eyes, the bright yellow one and mustard tainted one, closed, her voice a hollow whisper.

“I will die, she-cat, without help. Many more will follow this path; meet their ends such as this if this insanity continues. You are the leader of Risingclan, am I correct?”

Yellow orbs reopened, that burning gaze searching the younger cat’s face.

“Will your clan be the catalyst to save us all? Will you find the means to end it?”

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

"You assume correct."

Kestrel returned the older cat's gaze boldly, her head high, pride showing in her powerful stance, in her fierce mismatched eyes.

"I intend to take this to its end, wherever that may be. The cycle of violence must end, beginning with BoneClan."

The wind tossed her feathery fur, wind that was ancient and limitless, wind that stirred the aged dry dust and spun it around the magnificent RisingClan leader.

"I am prepared for any end. I may not win; I realize this. But I will fight.
I intend to by the catalyst, yes."

She was a wise cat, too, beyond her years; yet she was also a fool. A wise fool. She knew no shame nor hatred. Anger and speed were her birthrights; self-control, what she had worked to gain. Kestrel, a cat who had begun in nowhere, but would end in infamy.

^I'm alive

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[Pestilence]

“I wish there was strength left in me to see that day.”

The old cat murmured softly, a sigh escaping her muzzle. As thin, as scraggly, as she was…it was indeed shocking that she still found the strength to cling on. How much had she suffered?

But there was fire in those yellow hues. As she had spoken, it was clear the old cat wasn’t ready to die just yet.

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

Kestrel allowed the shadow of concern to pass across her face. "If you would like," she meowed slowly, "I could lead you to camp. We have fresh-kill and warm dens to spare. I believe you could use a good rest, unless I am much mistaken."
Amusement tempered the concern at the end; how could Kestrel be mistaken in such a matter? This cat lingered at the edge of death.

^I'm alive

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[Pestilence]

“I would like that young one.”

Young one? Well, Kestrel was much much younger then this old battler, that was for certain. The mangy she-cat weakly rose, her legs shaking from the effort. The ticks and fleas which infested her once stunning, rippling black pelt, now missing great patches and revealing bare skin, were sucking the life right out of here, draining it with the blood they stole.

I’m not ready to die.

“I would like that a lot.”

Shaking badly, old Pestilence found the strength somewhere deep in her fiery soul to move, to keep going even when her body screamed at her to stop.